


The Silver Wire

by Chipper_Daily



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Magic, Feelings Realization, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, sexual content in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chipper_Daily/pseuds/Chipper_Daily
Summary: A witch and a spirit strike a deal: a bind for a bind. A simple arrangement, until feelings get involved.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 71





	1. Meet Cute // Under the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, LouShe, I hope your day is filled with light & joy. Sorry I couldn't get this 100% done in time- it got, uh, a bit out of hand

Firelight danced in hues of orange and gold across the apple’s mottled red skin as it rolled to a stop at the edge of the grass. 

“Take it.” The flickering light cast strange, erratic shadows across the black-clad traveller’s tan skin as he leaned back on one arm, his gaze never leaving the small, crackling fire. “I could see your ribs from the road.” He quipped as he pulled another ripe apple from his bag and sank his teeth into the crisp flesh with a crunch Zim could hear from where he hesitated just beyond the golden ring of light. 

Zim’s stomach twisted, and he hugged his thin frame closer to the tree trunk as his gaze snapped back down to the apple resting against the grass on the edge of the dirt road. He had always known hunger, but never like this; Gnawing and ceaseless, it made his limbs heavy and weak, made his hollow body ache as it filled his mind with fog. The small handfuls of nuts and berries he managed to scrounge up as he wandered the seemingly endless forest abated the ever-present sensation somewhat. Still, it was never enough to satiate him fully. He wondered how long the strange man had known Zim was following him, waiting for him to curl up and doze off on the side of the road so Zim could rifle through his bag and take as much food as he could carry. The woods were dark and dense, stretching for miles. Even on horseback it would take days to pass through. He hadn’t expected the man to offer to share his meagre provisions unprovoked. Still. Zim’s eyes narrowed with a frown as he flexed his blunt, dirty nails against the bark. 

He knew better than to trust the gifts of strangers. 

Zim watched the traveller finish off his apple in stubborn silence and didn’t flinch as the strange man drew his arm back and threw the core into the woods in the opposite direction of where Zim lurked with an annoyed huff. It was met with a cacophony of indignant caws from a disturbed crow. He dug into his bag and withdrew a hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese wrapped in wax cloth. His knife-blade caught the firelight to shine as though it were forged from gold as he cut into the wedge as his brows furrowed behind his thick glasses. 

“Don’t be stupid,” The man groused around a mouthful of bread. “Even if you don’t starve, it won’t be long until the snow comes. Do you really think you’ll be able to survive out here by yourself without so much as a stitch of clothes?” Honey brown eyes that seemed too sharp snapped to meet his, and Zim flinched behind the tree as his heart jumped into his throat. He pressed his forehead against the rough bark while the rugged traveller continued undeterred. “What do you think is going to happen to you if you die in that body?” 

Zim’s breath hitched as his insides went cold. 

He swallowed thickly and peered around the trunk to find the stranger was still squinting into the dark wood with those uncomfortably shrewd eyes. 

“You… know what I am?” Zim’s voice was barely above a whisper, almost lost beneath the gentle rustle of wind through the leaves.

“I have eyes, yeah. You don’t exactly blend in with regular humans, you know.” The traveller arched a brow as he tilted his head back to sneer down his nose at Zim. “Who bound you and just left you here? It’s not every day you see a thrall without a master.” 

“I’m no mindless _thrall_.” Zim’s voice was rough from lack of use, but he defiantly jutted his chin out and squared his bony shoulders anyway. 

“Come into the light. Let’s see what they did to you.” The stranger laid his bread on his thigh and waved for the boy in the woods to come closer. He gestured again when Zim hesitated. “Come on, what do you think I’m going to do? Bind you again? The worst has already happened, what more could I possibly do to you now?” Zim pinched his thin lips and curled his hands into fists, but he stepped rigidly away from the tree and carefully made his way towards the road, the silver bell on his collar softly jangling with each tentative step. 

He stopped at the edge of the grass and eyed the strange man warily before crouching to pick up the apple he’d offered earlier. Even from this distance, the small campfire felt deliciously warm against Zim’s chilled skin, and a small part of him wanted to crawl right up beside it and stay there until feeling returned to his icy cold limbs. But that would require getting within arms reach of the mysterious traveller and his sharp eyes that saw too much, so Zim would satisfy himself with what he could get from a safe distance. 

The apple was ripe and crisp beneath his teeth, juicy and sweet, and Zim bit back the urge to moan at the intensity of flavour that burst across his tongue. He’d never tasted anything so sweet before, and he couldn’t get all of it in his mouth quickly enough.

“Hey- whoa- slow down. If you eat too fast you’re going to make yourself throw up.” Concern tinted the stranger’s tone as he awkwardly lifted a hand as though to touch Zim. The smaller man dropped the apple and tensed, ready to bolt as he bristled at the traveller’s hand. It hovered for a moment before the stranger clenched his fist and slowly reached into his bag to fish out a dark strip and offered it to Zim. “Venison jerky- it’s a bit stale, but you need some protein.” 

Zim eyed the offering with open suspicion, but hunger won out over caution, and Zim warily crept close enough to snatch the dried strip of meat from the wanderer’s hand. 

It was a very different experience than the apple. The meat was tough, chewy, and unlike anything he’d ever eaten before. Where the apple had tasted bright and crisp and so sweet he could feel it in his cheeks, this was dark, smoky, and salty enough to make him shudder. The stranger’s hand reappeared in his peripheral vision to invitingly slosh a canteen.

“Water?” The traveller raised an eyebrow. “You probably want something to wash that down with.” Zim grabbed the offered canteen and threw his head back to gulp down the stale water before the larger man had finished. He pulled away with a grimace at the foul taste as the stranger hummed thoughtfully at his side. “Sloppy.” He tsked mildly as Zim’s gaze snapped to meet his. He nodded at Zim’s collar as he absently scratched the dark stubble framing his sharp jaw and continued lazily. “Whoever wove that is an amateur or an idiot. No wonder your body came out all wrong. I’m amazed you’re able to hold your form at all with that thing.” 

Zim’s eyes widened as realization struck him, and he dropped the canteen to scamper away from the stranger.

“ _Witch._ ” He hissed through bared teeth. The venom was replaced by horror as the shorter man blanched and groped at his stomach. “You poisoned me, didn’t you?” 

“I never had much interest in poisons, honestly.” The traveller purred as the corner of his lip curled into a sly grin. He leaned down to pick his canteen off the ground and dusted it off as he continued. “Actually, my specialty lies more in binding- and _un_ binding.” He arched a brow as he brought the canteen to his lips. “What a fortuitous coincidence for _you._ ” He sniffed before tilting his head back to take a swig of water. 

“If you’re so great at breaking binds, why haven’t you broken your own?” Zim narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he nervously shifted his weight. Those shrewd brown eyes snapped back to meet his, sharper now, as the witch wiped his mouth on the back of his black coat sleeve. 

“I would dearly love to.” The witch’s voice was low as he eyed the dirty, scrawny, naked spirit hunched by the edge of the road, more like a feral creature than the human his bind had tried to shape him into. “You can see it, then?” Zim paused as his gaze traced along the gossamer string, as delicate as a spiderweb, almost invisible but for the subtle way it caught the firelight when the witch shifted, laced loosely around his neck and trailing off into the darkness behind him like a noose. A bind infinitely more intricate and elegant than the clunky silver collar and bell that sealed Zim inside his flesh prison. He didn’t wait for Zim to respond before he continued. “And you can see where it leads?” He narrowed his eyes, all traces of teasing gone from his tone now. Zim hesitated before setting his jaw and stiffly nodding. The shadows cast by the firelight seemed to move differently, sharp and jagged, and the witch’s brown eyes seemed too intense, too bright, as he shifted to lean closer. “I’ll make you a deal then, spirit. I’ll find a way to free you from that collar, and in return, you’ll bring me to the root of my bind.” 

“To its root?” Zim blinked his surprise before barking out a short, harsh laugh and baring his sharp teeth in a too-wide grin. “ _Gladly._ Get this wretched thing off, and I’ll make sure to take you there myself.” 

“Then it’s settled.” The shadows returned to normal, the fire cheerily crackled on as though nothing had happened as the stranger casually leaned back to bask in its warmth. “What’s your name, spirit?”

“Like I would just hand my name over to a witch.” Zim scoffed as he warily crept closer to the fire again. “How stupid do you think I am?” 

“Stupid enough to get collared by a novice.” The larger man hummed and took another drink from his canteen. “However, I suppose you were smart enough to get away.” He mused thoughtfully. It was a long moment before he spoke again. “I’m going to call you ‘space boy’” He turned to meet Zim’s gaze, and his face split into a mean grin. His teeth, though blunt and squared off, reminded Zim of a wolf’s fangs anyway. “Because all you do is take up space.” 

\---

_The terrible quiet was somehow even worse than the cacophony that preceded it._

_His hands smelled like iron, pressed tightly over his mouth. The only sound in the pitch darkness was the quick, ragged breaths through his nose and the soft, distant creak of the stairs. The boy couldn’t stop shaking, his breaths becoming shallow with mounting panic as he tried to force himself to be as still and silent as a stone, curled up beneath his bed. His chest ached, his shirt wet down to his navel, and it felt as though his hammering heart would pound it’s way out of his trembling body through one of the gashes as he listened to the slow, inevitable creaks of the wood shift from the stairwell to the hallway. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, hot tears spilling anew, and held his breath at the squeak of his bedroom door swinging open._

_Talons clicked against the hardwood, the floorboards creaking beneath a weight they weren’t designed to hold, and the child suddenly wondered if the creature could see in the dark and was following the thin trail of red droplets directly to his hiding spot._

_“You don’t have to be scared anymore,”_

_The voice remained the same as he remembered, even dripping from a mouth that wasn’t even remotely human anymore as the child trembled beneath his bed, consumed entirely by terror, and grief, and regret._

_“That monster will never hurt you again.”_

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my Secret Santa, LouShe! Their art is incredible & I highly recommend checking it out over on [tumblr](https://loushecocoon.tumblr.com)
> 
> So this sprawled out into something a lot more massive than I anticipated, whoops whoops. We should be able to update on Fridays tho, so keep an eye out. And, as always, thank you so much for reading & have a lovely day (and a happy holiday, if that's your jam!) (~˘▾˘)~


	2. The Town // A Stitch

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Master Membrane.” Water dripped down the guard’s helmet, the steel dull under a bleak, grey sky, as his brow furrowed. He turned his critical eye from the traveller to Zim and back, his cheeks a ruddy red in the cool damp. “I should’ve known it was about time for you to come skulking back, what with all the other ill omens popping up around here lately.” 

Zim pinched his thin lips and scowled up at the guard even as the witch- Master Membrane, apparently- smoothly turned to face the guard with what could only be described as a detached, condescending sort of patience. Zim was in no mood to deal with any more human stupidity than he’d already been forced to endure. It had been pissing rain on and off all day, and his rotten flesh felt chilled to the bone, yet his unfortunate new travelling companion hadn’t allowed him a moment of rest since the sun had coloured the sky in the east. They’d been walking from dawn to almost dusk, and Zim was so sore, and cold, and miserable he wanted to fall over and lay in the mud until it swallowed him up. To add insult to injury, the stranger had forced Zim to cover himself with an old shirt that reeked of the human’s acrid sweat and made Zim’s sensitive skin itch. He’d insisted Zim wrap himself up further with a scratchy old wool blanket, though it didn’t bother him nearly as much as the shirt. Zim refused to thank him for the clothes and the meagre protection they provided. Humans were strange and covered their bodies as though ashamed of them- the traveller had offered his clothes to ease his own discomfort, not for any benefit of Zim. 

“Charming as always, Chunk.” The traveller drawled dryly as he fished a small pouch from his jacket pocket. “Now, are you trying to say I’m another ill omen, or were all the ill omens to foretell my arrival?” 

“You tell me, _witch._ ” The husky guard growled in return, only to be cut off by a stern _“Chunk."_ from the taller, scrawnier guard standing across the iron gate leading into the town proper. Everyone knew witches were selfish and power-hungry, but above all, commanding of respect. The two shared a look, the taller warning and the shorter stubborn, until the Chunk pursed his lips and tore his eyes away with a frustrated grunt. His gaze landed back on Zim, and his lip curled as the witch turned to pay the other guard some fee to enter. “What the hell is _that?_ ” He sneered with a sharp jut of his chin down at Zim, who bristled beneath his blanket wrap. 

“ _He_ is none of your concern.” The Membrane human interjected brusquely before Zim could respond. “I found him in the woods. You know how easy it is to get lost in there, and how it can… _change_ a person.”

“He smells like you found ’em in a _graveyard._ ” Chunk wrinkled his nose as his gaze snapped back to sneer up at Zim’s taller companion. 

“Well, all the more reason to hurry home and deal with him then, wouldn’t you agree?” 

The guard gave a dismissive snort and stood aside, allowing the two unlikely companions to pass through the mouldering stone walls into a world unlike anything Zim had ever seen before. He stopped in his tracks to gawk at the buildings of brick and stone that loomed on either side of the cobblestone road, larger, more grandiose, and imposing than any humble farmstead or neglected hunting cabin Zim had previously encountered. Ornate black iron lamp posts lined the street, their glass globes dark at this time of the day, their bare, rod straight, slender forms a pale imitation of trees. He was abruptly pulled from his reverie by a hand clamping firmly around his thin bicep through the heavy wool blanket. His skin buzzed from the contact as the witch roughly hauled him back in step at his side. 

“The first thing you need to learn about the human world is to _never_ show weakness. _Ever._ Or they’ll never let you forget it.” The witch leaned down to hiss, low and dangerous, near Zim’s ear. “Humans are selfish and cruel, and they’ll tear you apart if you give them even half a chance.” 

“You don’t have to tell _me_ about how _wretched_ you creatures are.” Zim spat as he ripped his arm from his taller companion’s grip. The Membrane human pinched his lips but only nodded once to show he was satisfied with Zim’s answer before pulling away to stand upright once more. 

“Good, hold onto that anger. The less anchored you are to that form, the easier it will be to free you from it.” He narrowed his eyes down at the bound spirit at his side. “You’ll stay with me in my home, and you will obey _every_ command I give you, or you can kiss your chances of ever being rid of that collar goodbye.” He turned away to squint into the rain, small droplets of water beading against his glasses. “We’ll tell any villagers who are nosey enough to come snooping around that you’re my servant-”

“I am no _thrall._ ” Zim abruptly stopped in the street and stamped his foot indignantly when the witch turned to him with an annoyed look. “I would rather _die_ than be some ugly human’s _slave!_ ” The black-clad man’s expression darkened, but Zim squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “You don’t get to throw around whatever demands you want- The _Master Membrane_ needs me too. So you either start showing some respect, or you can kiss your chances of finding the root of _your_ nasty bind goodbye too!” 

The witch released his breath in a low, frustrated hiss through his teeth as he stiffly turned away. It was a long moment before he cast a dark look down at the bound spirit through the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t call me that,” He grumbled sullenly. “Master Membrane was my father.”

“What do I call you then?” Zim quirked an eyebrow as he jogged a bit to fall back in step at the witch’s side. 

“I’m not stupid enough to give my true name to a spirit, even a bound one.” He scoffed. The two walked in silence as the rain pattered lightly around them for a long while before the strange traveller finally cast another guarded look down at his shorter companion. “You can call me… Raz.”

\---

_“There is an innate sort of power in wild beasts and children, especially infants, not that they’re cognizant enough to use it.”_

_His father’s hands were large, warm, and careful as they tilted the child’s head up and to the side. Snow swirled beyond the window panes, and the wind made the old house groan around them, yet the fire crackled merrily in the hearth and the stagnant air smelled of wood smoke, cake, and his father’s cologne._

_“They’re still new to this world, not yet fully anchored in it, so they’re closer to the Other Side than an adult. Close enough to tap into that energy- what the uneducated would consider “magic,” I suppose. And easier to be snatched away by the twisted creatures that reside there.”_

_The young boy couldn’t see his father’s eyes, the firelight reflected in the lenses of his usual work goggles, painting them, and the sewing needle clutched delicately in his other hand, brilliant gold. He comfortingly smoothed his large thumb over his son’s jaw as the child’s pulse raced beneath his steady hand. His father’s furrowed brow softened as his voice lowered._

_“Be patient and gentle with your sister. She needs us both now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I wish you all nothing but the best this year <3
> 
> Sorry this is such a short chapter- they get longer from here on out
> 
> And, as always, thanks for reading (~˘▾˘)~


	3. Home // What Never Was

Zim’s mouth fell open in silent awe as he tilted his head back and squinted up through the rain at the massive red brick structure. 

“I thought someone like you would live in a one-room shack or something.” Zim’s voice wavered slightly as he dropped his gaze back down to watch the witch pull an ornate key free from the lock and swing the heavy wooden front door open with a low creak. “Honestly, I’m surprised you have a house at all. You seem like the homeless sort.” 

Raz turned back to level a flat look at the bound spirit.

“You can stay in the gazebo if you’d prefer.” He sneered before turning away and disappearing into the darkness beyond the doorway. Zim hesitated on the walkway. The door into the vast manor gaped open like a black maw beyond the vine-covered wooden porch. Heavy velvet curtains were tightly drawn across the tall windows, dull and grey in the dim twilight, while the porch itself showed its neglect through its chipped and faded paint. He squinted up again to count three floors, with 10 front-facing windows and one sad, dilapidated looking balcony jutting from a door on the top level. 

“Are you coming in, or are you actually going to sleep with all the spiders out in the gazebo?” Raz reappeared in the doorway to snap at the bound spirit. 

“Exactly how many spiders are we talking about here?” Zim tilted his head and mused thoughtfully as Raz gritted his teeth.

“Get in here, spirit.”

Zim couldn’t help but feel jittery and strange stepping over the threshold. Homes like this- ugly square structures of stacked stone and dead wood- were entirely of the human realm. Beings like Zim were typically unwelcome here. Not that a creature like him would find any comfort in such a place to begin with. Surrounded by straight lines and sharp corners, constructed from death and displacement, boxed in and harshly cut off from the natural world. All that existed within the cold walls had been subjugated, domesticated, or annihilated and repurposed to serve mankind. 

Where the untamed wilds undoubtedly belonged to Zim’s kind, humans had cut, and burned, and reshaped realms that belonged only to them as well. 

Yet Zim was mortal now, and he couldn’t deny the relief that flushed through his fatigued body as he stepped from the cold and wet outside to be greeted by the beginnings of a small fire the witch had started in the large hearth. His gaze snapped away from the orange glow to squint into the impenetrable darkness that lay down the hallway at the distant sound of Raz’s voice. 

“Go sit in front of the fire- NOT on the couch, you’re _filthy!_ ” There was the sound of another door creaking open in the distance. “I’ll come to grab you when this is ready.” Then the unseen door slammed shut, and the house was silent. 

Except it wasn’t. Rain tapped like blunt little fingernails against the windows, unseen through the heavy velvet curtains that smothered any light from filtering through, and the wind whistled across the brick walls, making the upper levels groan. Zim wrapped his thin arms tight around his torso beneath his blanket wrap and shivered in the long, grey silhouette of light pouring in from outside where he hesitated in the doorway. The stagnant air in the house smelled musty and stale. _Old._ He curled his lip in open disgust- he’d never encountered _dust_ like this before. He startled at the sound of the distant door swinging open once again, and even without seeing him, he could hear Raz softly curse as he awkwardly shuffled around somewhere in the darkness. Zim couldn’t pinpoint why, but the sound of movement put him at ease- made the unknown house and it’s oppressive darkness and looming walls feel more… alive. 

It was only after some metallic clanging, sloshing, and more muffled curses that Raz finally reappeared, his tan face painted in a halo of soft gold from a pale candle he clutched in one hand as he popped his head around the corner at the end of the long, dark hall. His expression shifted from surprised to annoyed in the blink of an eye.

“Will you shut the door? No wonder it’s still so cold in here.” He rolled his eyes and ducked back around the corner at the far end of the hall. Zim frowned but did as he was told. (NOT because the witch had barked at him, Zim’s legs were cold is all. Yeah.) The old house plunged into darkness around him, and he leaned against the door while he waited for his eyes to adjust. Finally, he pulled himself away to carefully shuffle towards the faint orange glow spilling around a lip in the wall to his left, choosing to gingerly drag his feet across the scratchy rug without lifting them in case he stepped on or walked into something. He shuffled up to a large, overly ornate, upholstered lump of furniture and assumed this was the ‘couch’ the Raz had warned him against sitting on. He paused as he briefly considered sitting on it anyway before another loud clang from the far end of the house distracted him from the thought. Zim cautiously drifted over to lean around the corner and squinted down the darkness of the hall again.

“Are you dead, Raz-thing?” He finally called out.

“I’m fine, space-boy.” 

Zim nodded once and dipped back into the sitting room, only for his attention to be caught by the overstuffed chair tucked up against the wall closest to him, or, more accurately, the cobwebs stretching between the chair and the wall. His face pinched, and he slapped the ornamental pillow closest to him only to reel back and cough in the wake of the cloud of dust he’d shaken loose. 

“Is the gazebo supposed to have _more_ or _less_ spiders than in here, human-stink?” 

His query was met with a deep and aggravated sigh. 

“You know, I’m starting to understand why whoever slapped that collar on you didn’t want to keep you around.” Raz’s face reappeared around the corner to level a tired look at the bound spirit. “Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Zim carefully crept down the length of the dark hall to find himself in a dimly lit room that was much warmer than the rest of the house. He spared a bewildered look at the large, squat, iron contraption and the waves of heat rolling off its surface to his right before turning to enter a brightly lit room to his left. The Raz’s coat was gone, and the sleeves of his loose black shirt were rolled up almost to his elbows where he knelt at the side of a large porcelain basin. Thin wisps of steam wafted from the surface of the water in the flickering glow of the wall-mounted oil lanterns latched on either side of a large tarnished mirror suspended above a significantly smaller basin resting on a stand on the other side of the small room. His gaze automatically flicked away from the silver surface- mirrors were tricky things for his kind- to settle on the witch’s face. Raz dipped a hand into the perfumed water and swirled it beneath the surface invitingly as his face twitched into his best shot at a disarming smile. 

“There’s more water heating up on the stove if we need it. Let’s see what you look like under all that dirt.” 

If Zim had known the Raz intended on torturing him, he would have taken his chances in the woods. 

It started off well enough- the piping hot water had even felt _good_ against his cold, chafed skin and aching muscles after he gratefully shimmied free from both the soggy blanket and smelly shirt and sank into the floral-scented bath. 

Then Raz rested a hand on his shoulder, and white-hot _fire_ ripped through Zim’s nerves. He flinched back with a shriek, and Raz tore his hand away with a look of wide-eyed shock as water sloshed over the side of the tub to soak his shirt and pants. Zim curled up into a ball as far away from the witch as he could in the tub and clutched his burning shoulder. 

“Hey, what- what _happened?_ Let me see-” Raz reached out, sending a crackle of static electricity across the surface of Zim’s skin before his hand could even make contact, and Zim contorted out of the way, kicking and flailing as much as he could in the slippery basin to get away. 

“Don’t _touch me!_ ” His voice was shrill in the cramped room, and much to Zim’s surprise, the witch froze, his brown eyes widening as his mouth flinched into a grimace. Zim followed the taller man’s gaze and twisted to look at his shoulder. His ivy green skin had darkened to a violent purple in the perfect imprint of a large hand, and small, pale blisters were already starting to blossom in tight clusters near where Raz’s palm had pressed against him. 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would affect you-” The witch stammered as he drew back from the edge of the tub. 

“You didn’t think _what_ would affect me, pig-meat?” Zim narrowed his eyes with a snarl as he cupped his injured shoulder and sank down into the water. Raz pressed his lips into a tight line and rolled his left sleeve up over his elbow.

“It _shouldn’t_ have any effect on beings that belong to _this_ side- I thought your collar would have cancelled it out, but-” He pulled his arm open to reveal a stark black symbol tattooed just below his inner elbow and offered a thin smile down to Zim. “On the bright side, the looser the connection you have to the human world, the easier it’s going to be to break that bind?” 

“You have a WARD tattooed on your ugly _skin?_ ” Zim bared his teeth instinctively at the hated symbol before his gaze flicked back to the human’s face. “And you brought _me_ here? With _that??_ What is WRONG with you?!” He slapped a palmful of water in the human’s face and pressed his back against the far end of the tub. Raz sputtered from the unexpected onslaught before sending a poisonous look back at the bound spirit.

“In my line of work, I don’t _want_ nasty little spirits like _you_ latching onto me, you know!” He spat as he slicked back his wet hair and abruptly stood. Zim miserably hugged his knees to his chest and watched Raz storm out of the bathroom. The skin on his shoulder didn’t hurt anymore, but it still felt tight and hot. Much to his mild surprise, the Raz reappeared and held up his hands, now sporting rubber gloves, with a stern frown. 

“You didn’t seem to have any sort of reaction when I touched you through the blanket earlier, so I assume we just have to avoid skin-to-skin contact.” 

“What are you doing?!” The bound spirit squealed as he pressed desperately against the far side of the tub upon the human’s approach. 

“Getting you _clean,_ you smell like wet garbage.” 

They had to drain and refill the tub three times before the water finally ran clear through Zim’s matted black hair. Raz started by simply cutting out the worst mats with a pair of scissors, but upon discovering the first bloated little tick hiding in his mud-caked hair, the witch switched tactics and grabbed his razor blade. He shaved the back and sides of Zim’s head, constantly hissing at him to _stay still_ while the bound spirit yowled like a wounded cat the entire time. Sure enough, Raz’s touch didn’t burn him again through the gloves, but the contact made his skin tingle. The witch was far from gentle when it came to scrubbing the collected grime from Zim’s chafed skin, every now and then tsking softly to himself and muttering along the lines of _“pitiful”_ when he ran his fingers along Zim’s jutting ribs or backbone. 

“How long have you been wandering around the woods stuck in this form? You’re just skin and bones.” Raz mused softly, as though to himself, as he wrapped a large five-fingered hand around Zim’s delicate green wrist.

“That’s none of your business, human- _stink._ ” Zim spat without any real malice as he stared down at the stark difference between the shapes of their hands. The collar was a terrible weight, always, but a new one sank in the pit of Zim’s gut with the strange, uncomfortable knowledge that the witch hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Zim’s mortal body had come out wrong. 

By the time Raz was satisfied with Zim’s state, the sun had set completely, and the moon was high behind the dark clouds that still hung heavy in the sky. They were both sore, tired, and worked to their last nerve. Zim wrapped himself in a large, fluffy towel and dragged himself back down the hallway while the Raz-beast slugged his way up the stairs. Zim flopped onto the forbidden couch in front of the fire and drifted off to sleep before what was left of his hair had even begun to dry. 

\---

_The dreams of humans were small, inconsequential things, yet the phantom images of dogs with their wicked teeth or dark shapes shifting between the trees had abruptly awoken him, his mortal heart racing, many times during his wanderings in the woods._

_That first night on the couch, however, he dreamt of a barn, weather-worn and leaning amid a sea of swaying gold grain that gleamed beneath the late summer sky as though each stalk had been woven from sunlight itself, and a small, unadorned shrine of plain stones stacked by calloused, hard-working human hands at the base of an old well in the shadow of the looming forest._

_And his human heart ached in longing for a home that was never his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally reached the Membrane manor~ <3 Let them live in an elaborate (neglected) Victorian home, they deserve it. I had to draw out the floorplan so I could keep track of where things were lol, I'm not very good at mental maps
> 
> Poor Zim is just really grubby after wandering around in the woods for a while, don't worry, he cleans up well XD
> 
> I hope the you're all staying healthy, happy, and safe out there, and, as always, thank you for reading (~˘▾˘)~


	4. Ground Rules // Six Feet Below

At first, he didn’t know what had awoken him. 

Zim blinked blearily in the dim light that leaked through the small gaps in the heavy curtains, dust motes dancing in the pale beams as he propped himself up on one elbow and peered around the ornate living room. The fire had died down to glowing embers, almost choked out by mounds of neglected ash, and Zim furrowed his brow in confusion at the heavy quilt that slipped free from his shoulder as he pulled himself upright. Hadn’t he curled up in only a towel the previous night? He gingerly poked at the dark handprint that was still stark against the green skin of his shoulder but was snapped from his thoughts by the second shy knock at the front door. He hauled himself off of the couch, and his toes curled against the rug at the bite of the cool morning air against his bare skin. He pinched his arms around his thin torso and made his way to the foyer anyway, and hauled open the heavy wooden door to squint into the pale, grey light of early morning. 

The human on the other side froze. Her gentle brown eyes popped wide in shock as her face flushed a blotchy red. She managed to stammer out a strangled _“Oh!-oh!-I’msosorry-”_ as she abruptly wheeled around on her heel and scampered back down the unkept path leading to the looming manor. Zim blinked at the strange display before moving to simply close the door again, quietly grateful to shut out the biting autumn wind, but was interrupted by a flurry of motion from the top of the stairs. Zim turned around in time for Raz to all but fly past him, wide-eyed and oddly frantic, as he paused mid-stride to fix Zim with a flustered look.

“ _You can’t answer the door like that- go cover yourself!_ ” He spat in a breathless hiss before turning his attention back to the rapidly retreating visitor. “Wait- Miss Gretchen, I can explain-!” And he was gone, darting down the path as well. 

Zim blinked again in the wake of the sudden outburst, rolled his eyes, and heaved the heavy wooden door shut. It was too early to deal with human nonsense. 

The sharp slam seemed to echo through the still house. His curiosity piqued as he drank in the ostentatious, dust-coated wood carvings coiling across the door frame and the stained glass panels framing the entryway, and Zim turned lightly on his heel to drink in the outdated and neglected decor. To his immediate right was a shut door with another tall, narrow stained glass window, which he promptly discovered was locked upon testing the brass knob. Peering through the frosted glass was no help either, as the room was pitch black beyond. Zim lurched away with an annoyed huff and turned his attention to the grand stairwell spilling into the wide hallway across from the front door, leading up one flight to turn sharply to the left and disappear beyond the first-floor ceiling. He eyed the stairs as he rubbed his thin arms in the morning chill and turned to drift back into the open living room to his left. He made a beeline around the couch and heavy dark-stained coffee table to the marble fireplace. He struggled to shove the intricate grate out of the way and hefted another log from the haphazard pile at the stone hearth’s side to chuck on top of the dying embers. Zim reeled back, sputtering and gagging in the wake of the cloud of ash that burst from the neglected fireplace, stirred by the sudden disturbance, and flailed his hands in front of his face as though he could bat the dust away. 

_Everything_ was dusty, from the faded, deep blue patterned wallpaper to the grey curtains to the dark stained wood finishes, furniture, and worn cream-coloured upholstery. 

He didn’t bother dragging the iron grate back into place and stumbled back to the couch to furiously scrub his face off in his abandoned quilt. The old blanket positively _reeked_ of red cedar, but at least it wasn’t as dusty as the rest of the house, and Zim bundled it around his narrow shoulders as well as he could and shuffled over to the heavy velvet curtains at the far end of the dim living room. He ripped them open and made a hasty retreat as a veritable cloud of dust swirled in the warm sunlight like fine flakes of snow. He drifted idly back into the hallway, which didn’t seem nearly as long and imposing in the light of day as it had the previous night, and his gaze followed the ornate wooden banister up the stairs to the unseen second floor. 

He traced his fingertips along the intricate carvings in the dark stained wood post at the base of the stairwell, sparing only an idle, passing thought to how long ago the tree from which it had been carved had died, before his curious gaze flicked back to the darkness at the top of the stairwell. This was Zim’s… home. Of sorts. (For now.) Of course, he should familiarize himself with it. The stairs creaked softly beneath his slight weight as he leaned around the post on the first landing to squint into the darkness of the second level. 

His attention abruptly snapped back down to the main foyer as the front door swung open to reveal a dishevelled looking Raz. His wide brown eyes immediately locked on to the bound spirit, and his face twisted to bare his teeth as he stiffly kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the box balanced in his hands onto the stool by the door. 

“If you’re going to be staying here, we need to lay down some ground rules.” He gritted out as he stomped down the hallway and up the first flight to grab Zim by the shoulder and roughly dragged him back down the stairs. “The first is you are to _stay on the ground floor._ The other levels are off-limits, understood?” 

“What?” Zim squawked as he squirmed in the human’s surprisingly strong grip. “That’s ridiculous-”

“The second rule you ARE going to follow if you wish to stay in this house is you are to be _fully dressed_ at all times when you are ANYWHERE but your bed or the washroom.” Raz’s volume rose to talk over Zim’s outburst as the witch glowered down at him, the flush of red in the tips of his ears the only outward sign of his discomfort. “The _last_ thing I need is the whole town gossiping about the _shameless tart_ I’ve let loose in my home.” 

“I’m not a tart!” Zim finally ripped his arm free and hissed up at the taller witch. “Or a pudding, or a pie, or anything else!” 

“You’re an idiot.” Raz’s expression shifted from angry, to disbelieving, to disparaging with each of Zim’s words, and Zim wanted to kick him square in the teeth.

“ _You’re_ the idiot!” He spat back, his entire body tense with indignant fury. “ _What_ am I to be ‘fully dressed’ in, wretched _witch?_ Quilts and cushions? I didn’t exactly come with a full human wardrobe! Am I supposed to pretend to be one of your nasty couches and lie on the floor to get covered in _filth_ until this collar comes off?”

“You _would_ know a thing or two about getting covered in _filth,_ wouldn’t you, space-boy?” Raz sneered in return. “Tell me, did you roll in _every_ mud puddle you found while you were busy wandering around starving to death in the woods, or just _most_ of them?” 

“Like _you’re_ one to talk!” Zim’s hands curled into fists as he flailed out into the air between them. “I can _smell_ your disgusting pig-body from _here,_ you ugly, stinky, _stupid-_ ” 

“Okay, _okay,_ that’s _enough._ ” Much to Zim’s surprise, Raz gritted his teeth and floundered for a moment to catch Zim’s small hands in his. Panic sparked beneath his ribs, only to be quelled a split-second later when he noticed the witch was wearing leather gloves. Not a moment later, he was squirming furiously to wriggle free from the taller man’s grip as Raz released a heavy, aggravated sigh before continuing in a clipped tone. “I _know_ you don’t have clothes of your own, okay? I asked Miss Gretchen to send the tailor to take your measurements.” His expression softened as he stood straight and released Zim’s fists. “She was just trying to drop off a quiche, poor thing, you didn’t need to scandalize her.” 

“She’s the one that was scandalized, not me. That sounds like her problem.” Zim huffed peevishly as he folded his arms tightly across his chest beneath his blanket wrap. “What is a keesh?” 

“Well, I suppose you could get away with calling it a tart.” Raz hummed mildly as he quirked a teasing eyebrow down at Zim and spun lightly on his heel to scoop up the box he’d abandoned by the door. "Mostly, I just hope it’s still _warm._ ” 

\---

_Everyone knew that witches were selfish, as only the most power-hungry of people would close their heart off from forging ties and emotional bonds with their fellow man for the sake of holding onto the magic that had imbued them from birth. They were typically shunned and distrusted by their communities. Yet, perplexingly, they were also profoundly vital members of them, able to perform tasks and rituals for the protection and betterment of their community that no other could._

_The early spring air was crisp beneath a clear, bright sky, the bare tree branches hung heavy with fresh buds as the priest droned on at the head of the gathered black-clad crowd._

_The graveyard was silent, but for the sombre, melodic Latin verses, even the birds withheld their song. Crows hunched with an unnatural stillness over the wooden branches high above a hole dug six feet deep below and watched with inscrutable marble black eyes._

_All witches either turned from their self-absorbed ways or inevitably met a gruesome fate: Either killed by the powers they attempted to control, or, lacking anything to anchor them, they would eventually wholly fade from the mortal realm into the Other Side. One can only balance upon the edge between worlds for so long before misstepping._

_The entire village had been rocked by the news, and the shock and grief rippled out far beyond its stone walls. More people had arrived than there was space around the humble family plot, and both mourners and gawkers alike crowded around the iron gates to watch in breathless silence. Yet only one stood at the priest’s side beneath the yew, his starched black clothes stiff and unyielding against the stitches in his chest and beneath his ribs a horrible hole, far deeper, darker, and emptier than the one that yawned in the soil. The child was aware, in a detached sort of way, that he’d never seen so many people before._

_Yet, as the priest droned on at his side and the crows rustled their feathers above him, he’d never felt more alone._

_Any lonely, lost soul who followed the path to become a witch was destined for tragedy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you're all doing well- happy Friday ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪


	5. Studies & Stories // Sister

Zim slept fitfully on the night of the first snow.

His dreams were haunted by dark, shapeless things he could only see in his peripheral vision. Sharp honey brown eyes, the rustle of black feathers, and gloved hands that were warm and gentle, a noose as delicate as a spiderweb yet as heavy as iron, and a mouth full of pins so numerous and intertwined so tightly he couldn’t open his mouth to speak.

Whatever narrative had woven the images together dissipated upon blinking awake. Zim rolled onto his back beneath his heavy blankets to spend a long moment staring up into the pitch-black as he tried to chase the faint wisps that remained of his dreams, the bell on his collar softly jangling with the small movement. Finally, he released his breath in an annoyed, nasal groan and pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes until patterns swirled behind his eyelids. Then he ran his fingers through the longer hair at the top of his head and down the short stubble growing along the sides before flopping limply back onto his pillow. He heaved another dramatic sigh and lurched up into a sitting position, the cold night air immediately biting his skin through the loose weave of his cotton shirt as he reached up beyond his pillow to fumble in the dark for his matches. 

The storage room door beneath the grand stairwell creaked open as Zim cautiously poked his head out of what had been designated as his ‘room’. He held his candle high, casting long, strange shadows that twisted and danced along the hall as Zim braced himself before planting his bare feet on the freezing hardwood. He knew he was supposed to be ‘fully dressed’ before venturing around the manor (ridiculous), but he figured he was decent enough in his long nightshirt. He couldn’t be bothered squirming into all the silly layers humans insisted on hiding beneath just to fetch a glass of water. Besides, it’s not like the Raz-thing was lurking around to bark at him for his supposed ‘indecency’ anyway. The witch didn’t rest nearly enough, but when he did, he slept like a dead thing, unable to be roused by any sort of ruckus until he damn well felt like waking up on his own. Zim was half sure he could sleep through the ceiling caving in. 

He padded lightly past the dining room into the kitchen, past the cold wood stove to the bare wooden table beneath a narrow window on the far wall where a plain, chipped porcelain jug rested near the edge, covered with a simple square of wax cloth. Zim grabbed his usual scuffed wooden milk crate from beside the drafty back door and hefted it over to the open shelf where the glasses were kept. Because the Raz creature was a horrid _giant,_ apparently just like his late father, and _everything_ was situated slightly out of Zim’s reach. He _would_ take one of the easier-to-reach bone china cups housed in the overly ornate hutch in the formal dining room, but alas, the heavy glass doors were locked, and Raz didn’t seem to know or frankly care where the key was. 

The witch’s total indifference to the state of his own home was baffling to Zim.

He paused mid-stride as he caught movement beyond the lace curtains above the table. He dropped his stepping stool and craned up on his toes over the edge of the table to rip open the curtains and gasped at the white flakes fluttering in the pale moonlight. Zim snatched his candle back up off the table and scurried into the large pantry, all thoughts of his glass of water forgotten. 

He scanned the open shelves, his gaze slipping past jars of canned peaches and pickled carrots, sweet jams, and salty brines, past strings of dried mushrooms and gnarled roots that were haphazardly strewn amid bundles of dried leaves and flowers to land on a shelf of empty mason jars. Zim’s face split into a wide grin as he scooped his prize up under his arm and turned to leave the pantry, only for a glint of candlelight on metal to catch his eye. A bare nail jutted from the wall above the door, and from it hung an ornate key ring. If Zim remembered correctly, it was the same one the Raz had used to unlock the front door. 

However, _four_ keys hung from the brass ring, not just one, and Zim’s grin shifted to something more devious. 

But first, he had to set up his jar.

The back door creaked as Zim pressed his weight against it, and he shivered at the blast of cold night air. He took a half-second to be grateful he’d left his little candle on the kitchen table; otherwise, it would be put out instantly. Instead, he clutched the glass jar closer to his chest as though it would help keep him warm and carefully plodded out onto the moonlit deck. 

Raz was always collecting all sorts of strange odds and ends- rainwater, smooth stones, small herbs, feathers, and bits of bone if he could find them. Items that faintly hummed with a gentle power yet seemed mundane in the dull eyes of other humans too firmly rooted in their short, restless, mortal lives. There was a small, subtle sort of magic in the first snowfall; Zim figured the witch would be interested in squirrelling away some of that too. 

He didn’t stop to ask himself _why_ he was bothering to help the obnoxious human as he carefully laid the jar at the edge of the old wooden deck. It certainly wasn’t part of their deal. He stood and wrapped his arms around himself as he tilted his head back to watch the delicate flakes flutter down around him in utter, stifling silence. The witch was both annoyingly talkative and infuriatingly secretive all at once, and, much to Zim’s chagrin, had taken to _studying_ Zim’s bound form. 

Of course, Raz tried to play it off as merely figuring out how his collar had been woven so he could _unweave_ it without harming Zim in the process, but the spirit highly doubted all the hasty sketches and scribbled notes were for that _alone._ Zim was well aware of how his mortal body differed from the Raz’s. He was still wary of mirrors, but he had two perfectly good eyes and could clearly see the stark difference in the hues of their skin and the shape of his three-fingered hands compared to the human’s five. The witch didn’t have to rub it in with the sketches.

Still, the human made sure Zim had three full meals a day, even if they were woefully bland (to help prevent him from anchoring into his physical form as much as possible), and provided him with a warm, dry place to sleep. Which was frankly more than he’d always been able to provide for himself in the Wilds, even before his unfortunate misstep with the silver collar. Already his lean frame had started to fill out. His ribs and hips didn’t jut out as obviously beneath his skin, his mind felt sharper, and his joints didn’t ache as much as he’d grown accustomed to in the woods. He was sleeping better here than in the forest, which probably contributed to his thoughts being clearer, too, along with the regular meals. 

Beyond the bare necessities, he had given Zim his own space (even if it was small) and a wardrobe of his own. Just a couple outfits, for foolish human decency’s sake, but still. They were gifts nonetheless, and gifts freely given were things of significance to Zim’s kind. 

On top of that, when the nights were long and Zim grew restless, the Raz could be prodded into curling up beside Zim on the couch by the crackling fire to read to the bound spirit from one of his many books. His deep voice droning thoughtfully alongside the popping of the wood in the hearth, his skin stained gold and his sharp features framed in stark, flickering shadows, and Zim sometimes caught himself holding his breath while he watched the witch read, and he didn’t understand why.

Zim scowled up at the sky and turned away to stomp back into the house again. He wasn’t confined by the rules of the Other Side here, though- the Raz had given his time, and space, and stories freely with no expectation of repayment. And Zim was human, so he owed him nothing in return beyond what he’d promised- to lead the witch to the root of his bind. 

His brow furrowed as he shut the door behind him and leaned on it, and if he shuddered at the thought, he could just tell himself it was from the cold. 

If the witch didn’t know what he was asking, that was _his_ problem, not Zim’s. 

A deal was a deal, an arrangement as binding to Raz’s kind as it was to Zim’s. A bind for a bind. The witch should have known to work out the details in advance. 

(Though Zim didn’t find it nearly as funny as he had when he’d first encountered the strange human.)

Zim pinched his lips and shook his head as though he could shake his dark thoughts free, and lurched away from the door to scoop his abandoned stool off the floor and redirected his attention to the pantry. 

He managed to bat the keys free from the bare nail, missed catching the heavy brass ring on the way down, and bit back a squeak as the keys bounced off the lip of his crate and hit the floor with a clatter that felt loud enough to wake the dead. Zim’s gaze snapped to the ceiling as though he could see past the wooden boards into the unknown second-floor, tensed with his breath held tightly behind his clenched teeth, and desperately _listened_ for any stirring from the floor above him. The seconds ticked by in utter silence until Zim slowly heaved his held breath in a deep, low sigh and hopped off his stool. While Raz’s terrible sleeping habits typically drove Zim up the wall, there were times he was grateful the witch tended to push himself to the point of crashing. 

He grinned as he held his prize aloft in the flickering candlelight. 

He was promptly disappointed to discover all four keys were much too large to fit the lock on the formal dining room hutch. No reasonably placed dishes for him, after all. 

The bound spirit’s frustration was promptly forgotten as he squinted down at the heavy brass keys. He’d seen the Raz-beast use one to open the front door, so logically it would make sense to assume there was another dedicated to the back door. Considering all four keys were the same size, it seemed reasonable enough to assume they were all shaped to fit the same size doors. 

Which is how he found himself drifting towards the door with the dark stained glass window and the brass knob beside the front entrance. Zim cast a wary look up the stairwell at the yawning black maw to the second floor as he fumbled with the heavy keys, carefully sliding each key into the lock and wiggling until he felt something inside the door shift with a heavy click. Zim bit his lip as he hesitantly wrapped his hand around the cold knob and experimentally twisted. 

The door cracked open with a low creak, as though the old hinges were objecting to the sudden intrusion, and Zim crouched down to scoop his candle off the floor and held it high as he leaned his narrow shoulder against the door to slowly press it all the way open. 

It was… just a room. Caked in dust and cobwebs, of course, perhaps even more so than the rest of the house, but a small, plain room nonetheless. Zim felt disappointed, honestly. He planted his hand on his hip as he stepped lightly over the threshold and skeptically eyed up the faded, forgotten overstuffed armchairs and neglected bookshelves lining the far wall. 

He drifted toward the abandoned bookshelves, teeming with dusty, forgotten books. His gaze drifted over the faded spines, embossed gold human words hammered into the leather covers in sinuous, coiling shapes that made no more sense to him than the curling smoke from a freshly snuffed candle. He was about to turn away when a faint shuffling noise made him pause in his tracks and turn back to the old books with new interest. Zim tilted his head inquisitively as he braced his free hand against the old, heavy wood and leaned closer. The dry shuffling seemed to intensify, and Zim squinted into the dark crevices of the old bookshelf. 

The darkness beyond the dusty book spines was _alive_ with shuddering movement. Long, metallic grey insects scampered away from the flickering candlelight, their segmented bodies writhing from side to side as Zim clenched his hand around the dusty shelf in horror and recoiled with a cry of revulsion. The old bookshelf groaned as it shifted away from the wall with the reflexive tug. Zim’s eyes widened, and he lunged out of the way as the massive shelf tipped precariously forward, spilling its mouldering, half-eaten books and writhing insects onto the floor before crashing to the ground itself with a thundering bang loud enough to make the windows rattle. Zim darted out of the room and shuddered a quick, disgusted dance in the foyer, the image of the insects squirming bodies still fresh in his mind with the phantom sensation of their legs crawling along his skin. 

“WHAT are you-?!” Zim froze as his attention snapped to the top of the stairwell at Raz’s bewildered cry in time to see the dishevelled-looking witch blanch, his mouth falling silently open as his brown eyes widened in shock. Zim followed the human’s aghast gaze to the gaping door and flicked back to watch the witch snap his mouth shut to grind his teeth, his shoulders tensing beneath his loose nightshirt as his hands curled into tight fists, and Zim defiantly set his jaw in return, even as nervous guilt squirmed in the pit of his gut. Raz stormed down the rest of the stairs and, much to Zim’s surprise, stiffly passed the bound spirit to grab the brass handle and slammed the door to the abandoned room shut once more. Zim eyed Raz’s back for a long, tense moment as the witch held the doorknob in a white-knuckled grip. The air between them felt heavy, thick, like the dead calm before a thunderstorm. It was only when he watched Raz’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath that Zim finally broke the suffocating silence. 

“Before you get mad,” Zim quipped matter-of-factly. “You said I could explore wherever I wanted as long as I stayed on the ground floor.” 

Raz whirled on him with a look of tight-lipped _fury._

“Is that collar choking off the air to your _brain?!_ That door was locked for a _reason,_ you ungrateful-!” Raz snarled as he gestured towards the door, then harshly back at Zim, his hair wild and glasses askew, his dark eyes wide and alight with anger.

“ _What_ reason?” Zim spat as he stubbornly stood his ground. “It’s just _dirt_ and _bugs,_ like the REST of this _disgusting_ house!” To Zim’s surprise, the witch actually seemed taken aback, his mouth snapping shut mid-accusation to bare his teeth in frustration down at the bound spirit. 

“How DARE you?!” Raz bit out as his hands clenched into tight fists. “You miserable little _wretch,_ I could have left you to die, and _this_ is how you thank me?!” 

“Oh, don’t act like you’re some selfless saint! You only brought me here because you _need_ me. Don’t you _dare_ try to pretend you helped _me_ for any other reason than to help _yourself!_ ” Zim took a step forward and firmly planted his bare foot against the faded rug as he met the human’s glare, emboldened by the witch’s moment of silence. “This is ridiculous- _you’re_ ridiculous- with your stupid _rules_ and stupider _secrets,_ living like a _ghost_ in your own home while it rots around you!” 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Raz hissed as he loomed over the bound spirit. 

“Of course I don’t,” Zim scoffed as he tightly crossed his arms and scowled up at the witch. “How could I? All you do is bark orders and hide upstairs when you’re sick of looking at me.” Zim narrowed his eyes as the Raz pinched his thin lips into a tight, disapproving frown. “You said I could make myself at home on the ground floor. I didn’t break any of your precious rules. How am I supposed to tell why one _filthy_ room is off-limits next to any other?” 

“Because that one was my dad’s smoking room.” Raz sniffed as he took a defensive step back, his burning gaze flicked to the side as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s where he’d have private talks with his clients and investors. My sister and I were never allowed in there. It’s always been off-limits.” 

“You have a sister?” Zim blinked his surprise. He’d assumed the witch didn’t have any family.

“I _had_ a sister.” Raz shot Zim a dark look from the corner of his eye. His curt tone made it very clear that he was in no mood to elaborate further. Zim rolled his eyes but didn’t press the issue. That was a fight for another night. 

“I thought the Master Membrane was dead?” The bound spirit huffed dismissively and flippantly ignored the look of wide-eyed offence the witch shot him. “He’s certainly not going to be using the smoking room any time soon. You might as well do something with it.” Zim hummed mildly as he turned lightly on his heel and began to walk away as he drawled over his shoulder. “Or you can leave it to the mould and spiders. I don’t actually care.” 

“ _Where_ do you think you’re going?” The Raz called out from where he remained rooted by the stairwell’s base, but the bite was gone from his voice. 

“To get a glass of water.” Zim paused at the mouth of the hall leading down to the kitchen to turn back and eye the witch. The Raz just looked… tired. Zim felt the line of his shoulders soften as he raised an eyebrow and sharply nodded down the hall. “Come on, then. You look like you need one too.” 

\---

_“Have you seen your sister?”_

_The boy blinked owlishly as his gaze lifted from his book to the dark silhouette looming in his doorway. He licked his lip nervously before replying in as innocent a tone as he could manage._

_“She said she wanted to go skating by the bridge.”_

_“You didn’t let her go by herself, did you?”_

_The child bit his lip and pinched the pages of his book tighter, his wide brown eyes desperately searching the shadows that obscured his father’s face._

_“Oh, son. You know better.”_

_The silhouette’s shoulders sagged as he huffed a low, exasperated sigh and pressed a large gloved hand to his cheek._

_“I told you I have some very important guests over, and they were_ so _excited to meet her.”_

_The familiar silhouette slowly shook his head, detached disappointment dripping from each word._

_“I guess there’s no helping it now. I suppose I can propose a walk to get some fresh air to our guests and see if we can meet her at the bridge. If your sister gets home before we do, tell her to change into her Sunday dress and wait for us by the hearth. She can work on her embroidery while she waits. You be a good boy and stay up here and keep quiet.”_

_The child’s father mused mildly. The boy nodded silently in to show he understood, and the looming silhouette nodded firmly in response, then he leaned down to grab the door handle and began to pull the door to the child’s room closed behind him once more._

_“I love you, dad.”_

_The child nervously squeaked as he popped up onto his elbows, causing the looming shadow in the doorway to pause._

_“I love you too, son.”_

_Then the door clicked shut, and the boy listened to the creaking of the floorboards shift from the hall back down the stairs until he could hear his father’s muffled, boisterous voice rejoin the distant, indistinct chatter of his guests the floor below. He waited for what felt like a small eternity, his heart pounding in his ears until he was certain his father wouldn’t make his way back up the stairs before the boy tossed his book to the side, rolled over, and leaned over the edge of his bed. He hastily clawed his bedsheets up away from the floor and squinted under his bed._

_“It’s okay, they’re going to the pond for a while. You're safe. You can come out if you want.”_

_Sharp, distrusting amber eyes framed by vibrant purple hair peered out from the darkness as his sister pinched her round face into a tight frown. When it became painfully obvious she had no intention of moving or responding, the boy rolled his eyes and squirmed back up onto his bed. He flopped onto his back with a low, annoyed huff and grabbed his book. It only took him a moment to find the page he’d left off, cleared his throat, and began to quietly read out loud in the soft candlelight once more as the gentle wind whistled across the bricks outside and the adults chattered below them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late whoops whoops.
> 
> I had to read up about silverfish for this. I guess that's in my brain forever now ;3;
> 
> Thank you for reading & I hope you have a lovely day (~˘▾˘)~


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